Single Mom, Single Dad, Two Complications
by Maloreiy
Summary: John Danziger and Devon Adair live in the same apartment building, and for the first time in several years, they are beginning to actually notice this. D&D. AU fic. [Work in progress]
1. Chapter 1

(AN: I know. I know. I should finish the other one, first. But I just get these SCENES that pop up into my head, and I have to write them down. This is an AU fic. For those of you who don't know, an Alternate Universe fic is when you take all the same people you know and love and put them somewhere else. So here we are on good old Earth 1, and this is a modern-day romance. Sort of.)

**Chapter 1**

Devon Adair stepped out of her old Ford Taurus on to the gravel in front of her apartment building. The car was a dingy red, and even when it was sparkling clean (which it usually was not), it looked sad and tired. Getting the car cleaned inside and out was a task for another day, when she had more time and energy. Just like getting a new car was going to have to wait for another day, when she had more money.

Even then, it would probably have to be another used car. But Devon wasn't picky. She just wanted a car that didn't break down every few months, and didn't need any "love-kicks" just to get started sometimes in the winter.

With a sigh she cast a wary glance at the darkened sky and rounded the hood of the car to open the passenger door. There was a storm coming. The silver-lining-Devon said that would take care of the cleaning of the outside of the car. The cynical-Devon said the storm would probably break a car window and ruin the interior of the car.

The warnings had been on the news for most of the morning and afternoon. The worst storm in 20 years, the pretty news anchor had said, trying hard to look serious, but still looking bright and cheerful. Devon shook her head. If she got paid for being bright and cheerful, she would probably be worse off than she was now.

She had spent much of the day fervently hoping the storm would hold off until she was safely at home. Each extra errand she had to run made her feel like she was really pushing it, but now she had only a few more steps (well, a few flights of stairs), and she'd be safe at home, ready to weather the storm. A good thing, too, because the sky, darkened with angry looking clouds, looked ready to burst any minute.

Reaching into the car, Devon pulled out a couple of paper bags filled to the very tops with groceries. Paper bags were more environmentally friendly than plastic bags. Devon remembered very clearly that her parents had never used paper bags, because they were inconvenient. Devon, dear, they said, we give more than enough money to charity to let others worry about the environment.

As Devon hefted the two heavy paper bags, she wished, and not for the first time, that her parents weren't right about paper bags being more inconvenient than plastic. Or, that she didn't have three flights of stairs to climb. One or the other. Really, she wasn't picky. But she didn't have a choice about the three flights. For now, anyway. And in her mind, she didn't have a choice about the paper bags, either. When the lady in the checkout line said, "Paper or plastic?" Devon always heard, "Paper or your parents?"

Paper it was. And you kind of get used to the three flights of stairs.

She had just finished locking the car door (a process that takes at least 20 seconds when your arms are full of groceries) when she felt the first fat drops of rain plop onto her head. She quickly crossed the small parking lot, because another drawback of paper bags is what happens when they get wet. The middle of a storm is no time to waste chasing your canned goods around.

Another 20 seconds spent, while she got the door open to the apartment building, and her sigh of relief was almost audible. She debated stopping to get Uly on the way up the stairs, but changed her mind.

Her son was at his afternoon babysitter. The Martins apartment was on the first floor, and she usually collected him on her way up to their apartment on the third floor, but today she could use the extra 5 minutes to set down the groceries and calm herself. Her nerves were just a little on the frazzled side, due to the hectic work week and the storm. A few minutes to herself would do her some good.

Her son, Ulysses, was the center of her world. A rambunctious child of 8, he was forever getting himself into the type of trouble only a small bundle of energy could think up. He was intelligent and curious and in some ways, quite fearless, as only young children are. The worrying is always left up to the parents. Parent, singular, in this case, since Devon was a single mother. She'd known she would be a single mother since almost the same moment she knew she would be a mother.

She thought of the curly-headed child waiting for her, and proudly thought they'd done quite well, regardless of what everyone had believed. Her mind moved ahead toward the rest of the evening. Before she picked Uly up from the Martins, she might put some water on the stove to boil. Some hot chocolate would be a welcome treat for the end of the day. They could spend some time planning what they would do during the rainy weekend.

Devon had only made it halfway up the narrow staircase, her mind occupied with potential "indoor" games, when a quite different bundle of energy barreled into her.

"Oh, for crying out loud," she thought, exasperated. "Now what?" She clutched frantically at the bags in her hand, trying to move out of the way of whatever was trying to get by, and not spill any of the items she had worked so hard to bring in safely. She had a vague idea she knew what—or who—was in her way, but the sobbing sounds coming from the other side of the paper bags didn't sound like True Danziger, the young daughter of the apartment manager.

One part of Devon wanted to set down the bags, see who it was, and figure out what was wrong. The motherly part of her, she supposed. But the other part desperately wanted to close her eyes, and push through to her apartment.

She did close her eyes. And said to herself, "Devon Adair, you are a bad, bad person with bad, bad thoughts." And then with a firm voice, she ordered the loud, gulping sobbing sounds to move backwards to the landing. It did much to confirm who it was, when the person actually responded to the authority in Devon's voice.

A small sigh escaped from Devon as she set her bags down on the stairs. To her credit, she didn't even glance longingly up the last flight of stairs to the door of her apartment.

With hands on her hips, she turned to face a disheveled True. "Disheveled" could have been True's middle name. She was a lively child of 12. The only child of a single father, she was more prone to running races with the neighborhood kids in patched up jeans (a size too small) or tinkering with some greasy metal parts, than playing the piano or having a tea party or whatever other 12-year-old girls did.

Devon approved, usually, memories of her own piano playing days lingering in the back of her mind. She liked to see True enjoying herself, and being herself.

But today, through the tear-streaks and puffy eyes, True's face reflected none of the joy of her usual hoydenish ways. Today all Devon saw was fear and despair.

Her heart softened automatically. The girl was scared half to death. In a carefully-pitched calm voice, Devon asked, "True, are you okay?"

"I—I—I—" True gulped between tears. "I can't find my dad." She was bravely trying to choke back the tears now, sniffling mightily. "I need to find my dad."

Devon placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "Oh, True, I'm sure you're dad is fine. The storm just started to break. He'll be home soon. He knows how to take care of himself." The words were meant only to soothe, but Devon knew them to be true. If there was one thing John Danziger knew how to do, it was how to take care of himself. If there was another thing John Danziger knew how to do, it was how to create an all-terrain/all-weather land vehicle out of a straw, a toothpick, and the trash in his pocket.

Either way, he was in no real danger.

But Devon was surprised when True's tears stopped just long enough for her to throw Devon a disdainful look. It would have been a look with real power behind it, if it wasn't for the runny nose beginning to drip down her face. "Of _course_ my dad can take care of himself."

Devon raised a single eyebrow at the scorn in the comment, but chose to refrain from replying to it. Trying a different tack, she asked, "Is there something wrong, True? Can I help you in some way?"

The stammering started again. "I—I—I just need to find my dad." Tears welled again in her big brown eyes, and in a small voice, she added, "I think I have to go to the hospital. I just—I need—I want my daddy." She tried to suppress the sobs, but the hitches in her breathing gave her away.

The motherly instinct in Devon took charge. "Where are you hurt?" she demanded. She knelt closer to True's height and started checking her arms and her legs. She couldn't see any visible damage, and she was obviously walking, so it shouldn't be anything too bad. But if she was sick, she shouldn't be up and about. Devon put a hand on her forehead, checking for a temperature. "Where are you hurt?" she asked again. There was no discernible fever, but Devon was never really good at the hand-checking-method. She always did it, but never noticed it to be useful. Uncharitably, a voice in the back of her head started to say, "What kind of father leaves a sick child…?" But she didn't let the voice finish.

Without waiting for an answer from True, she grabbed True by the hand, and started pulling her upstairs, groceries forgotten on the steps. "You should go back inside the apartment, True. I'll find your dad for you. He shouldn't be far. I want you to go inside and lay down on the couch real still, and I'll come back and check on you every few minutes."

True started struggling in her grasp. "No! I don't need to lay down! I need to find my dad. He'll know what to do." The tears were still falling thickly, but they seemed to be the only thing wrong with her.

In front of True's door Devon stopped again to look at her. In a gentle voice, she said, "True, I'm the only one here right now. You need to tell me where you're hurt, so I know what to do. I'll go find your dad, I promise. But if you're hurt, you can't be moving around." Still silence from True.

It was then that Devon saw it. She didn't know what instinct alerted her, but she supposed it was a feminine one, as old as time. It was the way True was standing. The way she was holding her body as if standing were uncomfortable, but not painful. It was the confusion in her eyes, and the way she didn't answer the question. And it was the slightly dark spot on her pants she'd originally taken as mud or dirt.

An even gentler voice this time, as Devon knelt down on her knees. "True. I need you to answer me, okay? If it embarrasses you, just nod your head." A sniffle for a response was enough for Devon. "True, are you in any pain? Anything at all? Even a little bit?"

A pause, while True thought about it. And then a nod and a sniffle.

Devon pointed at True's stomach. "Is it there? Is there a little bit of pain in there?"

True nodded. Tears were still falling, but the hitches in her breath had evened out. "Just a little bit. Maybe I ate something bad for Lunch. But that's not what's wrong."

Devon pointed lower. "Is it here, True?"

True's eyes got a flash of panic in them again. Before True could respond by crying only harder, Devon hurriedly added, "It's okay, True. I think I know what's wrong, and it's okay. But I need you to be absolutely honest with me. Are you hurting right there?"

True shook her head.

"True, are you bleeding right there?"

Silence. And then the barest of nods.

Devon sighed, and looked longingly toward her door across the hall. She couldn't possibly leave the girl here to search for her dad. She hated when other people stepped in to parent her own child, but this obviously should have a woman's touch. And the girl was distressed enough, without having to deal with the awkward discussion with a man. What did they know about it, anyway?

She made her decision quickly and turned back to True. "True, I want you to stop crying now. I know what it is that's wrong, and you're not in any danger, okay? But since your dad's not here right now, we do need to talk about it. There are some things I really need to tell you. So I'm going to go back down those steps and pick up those groceries, and I want you to wipe your nose, and go wait by my door." She waited for True's confirmation.

After a pause, and an indecisive sniffle, there was a very small, "Okay." A grubby sweater sleeve moved up to wipe at her nose, smearing her face even worse and making Devon wince. Her fault, for telling the girl to wipe her nose.

She quickly went down the steps and picked up the two paper bags, and mentally ran over the things every woman should know. How in the world was she going to do this? She'd never considered a conversation about matters like these, seeing as how it was unlikely her son would ever need to know.

She thought back to her own childhood, but could glean no helpful experiences there. Her own mother had refused to discuss those aspects with her, leaving it up to her tutors to explain all the biological parts. And, though her mother would die to know it, the servants in the great big house had been the most help with practical advice.

It was those small kindnesses that really stuck in Devon's mind. The most awkward conversation can be handled with kindness and understanding. But someone needs to take the time to do it.

True was standing in front of the door, as instructed. Tears were no longer pooling in her eyes, but her face held a look of doubt, and so Devon smiled for reassurance as she fidgeted for 20 seconds getting the door unlocked.

"Come on in, True." She closed the door with her foot as the young girl walked through the doorway. "Let me just set these bags down." She crossed the small apartment to the kitchen, and let down the paper bags with a small sigh. Nothing in those bags that couldn't wait 15 minutes to be put away.

True stood by the doorway, until Devon walked over and motioned her towards the bathroom. "First things first," she said, with a cheeriness that she hoped the girl didn't take for the tiredness it was.

Devon didn't have to wonder what her own mother would have done. Good thing for True that Devon Adair was nothing like her mother.

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(AN: I know the whole Devon-True thing has played out in other fics before, I think. But this chapter has been sitting around forever, because I haven't actually written the rest of it, so I just thought I'd post it, and see if you all can't manage to inspire me to write more. I've got another AU Devon-John fic that may show up soon…set in the wonderful world of High School Seniors…DON'T STEAL MY IDEA!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The wind outside was just beginning to howl when John Danziger banged through the doorway of the apartment building. John was a man that liked to bang things. There was a certain satisfaction in the loud unexpected noise. However, since he was also the manager of the apartment building, and didn't want to have to spend all his time fixing doors that he had broken by excessive banging, he limited it to just this one door. And this one door had special reinforcements that he put in himself, to make sure it would hold up to a steady stream of banging.

Today, the banging was because he was cold, damp, and tired. He kept the place in pretty good shape, but with that storm on its way, he figured he'd go out and see to a couple things. Making sure all the gutters were unclogged and flowing the right way was a thankless job, but he rather liked it. Except when nothing seems to go right, and there's a vicious wind pulling at your clothes and your hair, and all you want is to go inside and rest. Then a few thanks doesn't seem so much to ask.

He tugged off his boots and tossed them into a corner of the alcove by the door. None of the other residents in the building put their shoes there, but John liked to think of the entire building as his own, so he was going to put his shoes where he wanted.

Plus, considering what they were usually slogging through, he figured everyone should be pretty happy he didn't clomp up all three flights of stairs in them, leaving behind a trail of things better left unknown.

So, per usual, he climbed up the stairs in his socks. He left a bit of a damp trail behind, because he hadn't expected to be out there when the rain had started, and so had left his raincoat inside. That's what you get for being over-confident. An hour, two max. Ha! Try three and a bloody half.

True had better be happy with some frozen food in a pot, because there was no way he was going to try his hand at cooking anything better tonight.

Three and a half hours. Sheesh. He shook his head as he pushed open his apartment door. They didn't really go for much in the way of locking. The last thing he needed was to be hanging upside down somewhere and have his house key fall into a septic tank or something. At any rate, who was going to rob him?

It's not like they had that much. Who wanted to take some patched up jeans and flannel shirts? John had it on relatively good authority that his choice in shirts was nothing short of pathetic. And since most of his tools were locked up in the shed outside, or downstairs in the basement, there wasn't really much of value in the apartment--some 12-year-old rollerblades (doctored to roll faster and smoother) with lightning bolts on the side, a small TV that someone gave him for free, numerous mismatched kitchen items…yeah, treasure trove it was not.

The unlocked apartment door swung open easily into a well-lit room. One good thing about their apartment, the things that needed to work not only worked, but they worked quite well. He walked around to the kitchen to flick off the light, then headed to the hallway to flick off _that_ light. His daughter was forever leaving lights on. Many times before, he had tried to explain that wasting light wastes money, but since, in practice, he forgot the lights just as often as True, he couldn't complain too much.

He headed down the short hallway towards True's room, expecting to find her there, but her room was empty. Brightly lit, and looking as if a young child was expected back at any moment, but still quite devoid of any human inhabitants.

He asked Vodka where True was, but only received some squeaks in reply. Vodka was a guinea pig, and when True had put "Ginny Pig" on the shopping list, John had remarked that it looked like an alcoholic beverage. Naturally, this led to questions about names of alcoholic beverages, and when True said "Vodka" sounded like a good strong name for a guinea pig, he didn't see the harm in it.

Vodka was not usually prone to intelligent conversation, but through some sort of girl-to-pet bond, sometimes she managed to give some clues as to True's whereabouts. For example, if there were dirty clothes covering Vodka's cage, there's a good chance True was in the shower. If Vodka raced around eagerly when you entered the room, then True hadn't come home from school to feed her yet, or had given her some type of sugar candy (which also meant that True was outside bouncing off of some trees somewhere).

If there were schoolbooks on top of Vodka's cage, it meant that True had homework due and she was trying to make you think she did it already by placing her books neatly in full view of the door. It also meant that True would be hard to find.

No books, no clothes, no racing Vodka. That meant John had to figure out where she went without any help. Surely she hadn't gone outside. John hadn't caught a single trail from her while he was out there. It was cold and windy and with the storm due to hit that afternoon, she'd had strict instructions all day to stay inside the building. Maybe she was downstairs.

Well, he'd go check on her, right after he changed into some drier clothes. In his room he tossed his wet clothes into the basket and made another mental note to do some laundry this weekend. He hadn't remembered last weekend, but eventually if he made enough mental notes, he'd get around to it. He hesitated by the bathroom door.

If True was outside and he had to chase her down, he would just get all wet and dirty again. But if he put clean clothes on over his dirty self, it would require him to wash yet another set of clothes, in the event that he got around to doing the laundry.

He quickly decided that True couldn't possibly be outside, and so he took a few minutes to himself to get cleaned up.

Ten minutes later he was still dripping wet, but now smelling of soap and shampoo. Putting on some reasonably warm clothes, he used the towel still in his hand to take most of the damp out of his curls. Some men thought there was something distinctly girly about his shaggy curly hair. Of course, they didn't think those thoughts anywhere near John. When he was younger, he tried to keep his head shaved close, so those embarrassing locks didn't betray him. But as he got older, he found the crazy halo rather suited his personality. Plus, the girls seemed to like it, so he figured he might as well keep it long. Took less maintenance that way, anyway.

And if occasionally some guy needed a fist in his face, it was a small price to pay, all things considered.

Hanging the towel haphazardly in the bathroom, he tramped barefoot towards the living room. It didn't take him more than a second to realize that if all the lights were still off, True couldn't possibly be in the apartment. A glance out the window showed that the rain was really beginning to come down, and John thought irritably that True must be hanging out with the neighbors, and had forgotten the time.

He threw on some shoes, not bothering to tie the laces, and swinging the apartment door wide open, he headed down the stairs. The Martins lived on the first floor, and were a favorite of True's. He didn't know what anyone could see in that Morgan fellow (John privately thought that if anyone had girly hair, it was Morgan), but Bess was a nice enough lady. She had a nice clean home, always made sure Morgan paid the rent on time, and always had some cookies or some crayons for the kids in the building. And you could always rely on Bess not to let the kids get the cookies and the crayons confused.

He knocked on the door lightly, and only had to wait a moment before Bess's smiling face pulled the door wide.

"Oh, John!" she drawled in surprise. "I wasn't expectin' to see you tonight. Crazy storm we're in for, ain't it?"

John just shrugged. "We ought to be able to tough it out in here. Everything's in working order."

Bess grinned. "Well, with you in charge, of course it is. You know you and True are always welcome here for dinner. It's the least we can do, what with all that time you put into takin' care of all of us." She turned quickly to make a shushing motion at someone in the background.

John assumed it was Morgan, voicing a complaint about dinner guests, and so he quickly put in, "Not tonight, thanks, Bess. Me and True have our own dinner ahead of us." He didn't mention that he had no idea what that dinner would be, but since it would inevitably lead to mention of the wonderful smells wafting from Bess' kitchen, he decided it was best to keep silent. He didn't want to have to put up with Morgan tonight.

"Actually, Bess," he continued, "I was looking for True. I told her not to go outside, and I thought she might have come down here looking for some entertainment."

Bess frowned and bit her lip. "That's funny, John, I should've expected to see her sometime today, too. But I haven't so much as glimpsed her flying by. I'll be sure to tell her you're lookin' for her."

John ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Being a single parent meant you were always on the edge of worry. Nine times out of ten, the worry was completely unnecessary. It was that tenth time that gave you nightmares--thinking it would be the one time you didn't think to worry, and so didn't move fast enough.

"Sure thing, Bess," he thanked her. As he turned to leave, considering his next move, a small voice called to him.

"Mr. Danziger?" The voice was high and a little quavery, and it was only then that John noticed a small head peeking out from behind Bess.

"Hi there, Uly," he smiled at him. "Sorry I didn't notice you there. How's it goin'?"

Uly, always relatively shy around John, looked down at his feet, before he looked up at Bess, wondering. "Uh, Mr. Danziger, I was wondering if you saw my mom come home, yet."

John was about to say he hadn't seen her, but knew that would probably just worry the boy. It was pretty late, and Devon usually picked up her son right after work. But now that he thought about it, he seemed to recall seeing the hunk of metal she called a car sitting outside when he came in earlier. So he told him that, instead.

A big smile crossed Uly's face, and he tugged at Bess' apron. "Miss Bess, does this mean I can go home, now?"

Bess looked a bit unsure, obviously wondering why Devon hadn't come by yet, if she had indeed come home. She looked quickly at John, and then said, "I'm sure Mr. Danziger doesn't mind walking you up real quick, but if she's not there, you come right back down, okay?"

With a nod, he disappeared from the doorway, presumably to gather his things, and John resigned himself to the five-minute delay in his search for True. The kid was plenty old enough to walk himself up the steps, but Devon Adair was a stickler for her rules, and if she said the kid needed an adult to climb a few stairs, he wasn't going to argue.

Come to think of it, True had a number of spills down those stairs, so maybe Devon didn't have the wrong idea.

When Uly came out, John ruffled the boy's head. The kid's hair was almost as curly as his own. One of those crazy genetic things, he supposed. Devon's hair was stick straight, and so was True's. Anyone would think the kids got swapped somewhere down the line.

"Uly, you been growing lately? Seems to me you're about 6 inches taller than the last time I saw you."

The boy grinned up at him. "Maybe one inch." He quickly looked back down at his feet, not sure if he should say anything else.

He liked Mr. Danziger. If anyone had asked him, he couldn't have said why. There was just something comforting about him. He was strong, but didn't try to bully everyone. He was smart, but didn't try to make you feel stupid. He knew how to fix just about everything. And more importantly to Uly, when he talked to you, he looked you straight in the eye. Man to man. Never talked over his head, never thought maybe he was too young to understand.

Uly was going to be nine soon. After nine came ten, and then eighteen wasn't that far off, and he'd be a grown-up. Mom wouldn't understand, but every now and again, he got tired of being fussed over. Bess was okay, but she was just as fussy as Mom sometimes. Uly sighed, as he started climbing the steps. If it wasn't for his stupid asthma, maybe they would both fuss just a little less.

Used to True bounding up the stairs, John was a tad bit surprised to see Uly go up the stairs at a sedate pace. He thought for a minute it must be another Adair family rule, but Uly's little hand gripping the railing reminded him that the boy wasn't quite as healthy as True.

He felt guilt at his brief thoughts of Devon Adair's over-protectiveness. It was easy to think of all children as indestructible balls of energy when your own ran you ragged every day. Uly had severe asthma, and John remembered an incident a few years ago when a frantic Devon had raced down the steps with Uly turning shades of pale colors, gasping in her arms.

The kid couldn't have been more than four at the time, and since then there hadn't seemed to be any problems. But the way Uly was hauling himself up the stairs, John guessed the little body still had a ways to go before running any marathons. He automatically slowed his own stride, trying not to match the boy's progress too obviously.

"So, Uly," John began in a nonchalant voice, the kind grown-ups use when they are pretending to be serious, "given any thought to getting a job?"

There was a pause, and John was treated to a startled gaze from big eyes. Uly didn't know what to make of that statement, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. "Are you going to give me one?"

John had to chuckle at that one. So much for casual conversation. He'd just meant to joke around a bit, but now that Uly mentioned it, he supposed he could find him some things to do. The kid needed something else to fill his days. Maybe toughen him up a bit. "Sure," he answered. "If you're up for it, and had a little free time. I could use another man around here to help me out." He knew he'd struck the right chord when Uly's face lit up with pleasure and anticipation.

"I have time, Mr. Danziger!" The boy's face lit up even further, as he added, "Wait till I tell mom!"

Whoops, strike one, John thought. You should always ask the parent first. "Hey Uly, maybe you should ask her, rather than tell her. You know, just in case she doesn't like the idea."

He frowned at that, recognizing the truth in that statement. Mom probably wouldn't like it at all, actually. He'd just have to find a way around that. He'd find a way to make her understand. He was growing up, and it was time he did a few grown up things.

They had reached the top of the third flight of stairs, and Uly knocked on the door of the Adair apartment without hesitation. John noticed he didn't even bother trying the handle first. That's because Devon Adair never forgot to lock her door behind her. More than once she'd actually locked the door in front of her, actually. Gotten herself locked out, had to get him to haul out the master keys. Well, he supposed there wasn't a price you could put on feeling safe.

The door opened swiftly, and John had the fleeting thought that if you were going to spend so much time locking your doors, maybe you should see who was outside before you opened them.

"Uly!" Devon exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

John had to laugh at that, and answered for Uly, "Sorry ma'am, thought he lived here. I could take him down to the Lost and Found if you'd rather."

There was a moment of silence while Devon debated whether or not she was going to find the comment amusing. When she finally decided on a smile, she said, "Of course not. It's just that Uly knows he's supposed to wait for me to come get him, and not come up here on his own." Her eyes flickered to Uly. "I was a bit surprised, is all."

A quick glance at Uly told John it was up to him to state the obvious. "Well, lady, he wasn't on his own, he very responsibly asked me to accompany him." That sounded irritated. He hadn't meant to sound snappish, but it was a tad bit insulting that the woman could think he wasn't capable of shepherding a nine year old boy up the steps.

This time a real smile from Devon, as she reached a hand out for her son. "Yes, I'm sorry. I suppose I should have thanked you first. Um, thank you."

John noted that the smile changed her face. She looked severe, standing there in her own home, wearing a business suit. But the smile made you think there was a real person in there, and not just a fretful mother. So he shrugged and said, "No problem. What's a few flights of stairs between neighbors? Probably gonna run them a few more times tonight, anyway. Can't seem to find True anywhere."

Devon's face changed abruptly, and she lifted a hand to her face and said, "Oh, dear." Uly had just pushed the front door wide open, and through it, John glimpsed a familiar ponytail swinging at the kitchen table.

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(AN: Thanks for checking out my story, everyone. Reviews and messages and stuff really help motivate me to continue writing. It so happens this one was mostly done, and those last reviews really pushed me to write. Please tell me how you like things, or if you think I need to work on a few things. I didn't mean to end this chapter there, but…well…might as well. I like to keep the chapters similar lengths. Tell me what you want to see…I could always do with some inspiration…)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

True was enjoying herself. In all the years since the Adairs had moved in, True had never really seen the inside of their apartment. She'd always known it would be neat and orderly. Devon—and it's okay to call her Devon, because after several "Ms. Adair"s Devon had said, "Why don't you call me Devon?" and since True was practically an adult now, it seemed all right—Devon always seemed like the neat and orderly sort of person. The kind who always cleans the kitchen right after it's been used, and always has a new roll of toilet paper in the bathroom, without someone having to yell from inside, "Please get me a roll of toilet paper."

Truthfully, and since True liked to live up to her name, she tried to be truthful all the time, she had not thought it could be comfortable living in a house with such a neat and orderly person. She was comfortable living with her dad (John?...Dad….John…Dad…no, definitely Dad, he'd probably _have a cow_ if she called him John), who was obviously not neat, although sometimes orderly. And it just didn't seem possible that both ways could be comfortable.

She used to feel sorry for Uly, first because he was so pale and weak-looking, but second because he had to live in a stiff clean world, and couldn't ever seem to do _anything_ fun, and his mom always seemed to be looking sternly at somebody.

But True was thinking differently now. She was sitting at a pretty, clean table, kicking her feet happily (and unconsciously knocking dirt off her shoes and onto the tile), and drinking some hot cocoa. Devon wasn't quite as fun and comfortable as her dad, but she was very nice.

Those first few minutes had been a little awkward, but after Devon had explained a few things, True felt a lot better, and was glad, momentarily, that she had not found her dad after all. Sometimes there were things you wanted to talk over with a woman, because men don't have the same problems women do (that's what Devon had said).

It took a little while to get everything settled, because Devon insisted she not sit around in her jeans, but gave her a pair of old sweat pants. And then there was a minor lesson about getting bloodstains out of clothing, which True thought would come in handy on MANY different levels, since she was getting to the age where streaks of blood on clothing were no longer cool, and occasionally annoying, and if they looked fresh, were likely to result in another lecture from her dad about fighting or safety.

The hot cocoa was the best part, though. True could hear the rain outside, really coming down hard now. But inside it was nice and warm, and sitting at that pretty little table with the pretty little cup in her hands, she felt cozy in a way totally different than she'd ever felt before.

The knock on the door sent a quick flare of annoyance through her. She didn't want anyone to interrupt them. It wouldn't be the same once someone else came. But of course, Devon got up to answer the door, and True resigned herself to the end of this adventure.

Through the doorway, she could hear her dad's voice, and it occurred to her, all of a sudden, that maybe she should have left a note on her door. Her dad would never dream of looking for her in Devon's apartment, and he might be mad if he couldn't find her.

So she decided that as soon as he left, she was going to get out and sneak back. Maybe she should hide, so he couldn't see her if he accidentally looked in. Except that was no good, because surely Devon would mention something about her being there. It was the way of parents.

When Uly came in, and his eyes lit on her, she knew the jig was up. True looked towards the door and found herself looking straight into her dad's eyes, which were narrowing in a way that usually meant trouble. Uh-oh.

She automatically started to get up from the table, but then Devon put a hand on her dad's arm, and said, "Mr. Danziger, if it's all right with you, I'd like to speak with you for a minute."

A raised eyebrow. "And if it's not all right with me?"

This response seemed to alarm Devon a bit, but she said, a little stiffly, "Then I still want to talk with you."

While True was pausing halfway between sitting and standing, unsure which would be her best move, Uly came up to her and said, "I want hot chocolate, too!"

Turning from the door, Devon called, "Uly, have some hot chocolate and sit down with True for a minute, I'm just going to talk to Mr. Danziger outside."

Uly turned to wave at Mr. Danziger, frantically conveying through gestures and facial expressions that now he could talk to Mom about The Job—a message of which John Danziger received only the barest of understanding, and none of the specifics.

As the door closed behind them, and True reseated herself at the table, the two children looked at each other in a bemused fashion. There was a feeling of expectation, as if something new and exciting were beginning right at this very moment. But not knowing what to make of it, they simply fell to sipping hot chocolate and discussing which games are best to play in the rain.

On the other side of the door, the discussion was a tad less amiable.

"Back it up, Adair." John probably sounded more gruff than necessary, but he was irritated. "Thanks and all for what you've done, but try explaining again without the part where you act like I don't know how to raise my own kid."

With a slightly raised voice, Devon protested, "I said nothing of the sort!"

With his hands on his hips, he snorted at her, "So you weren't the one that said the words 'running around like a hoodlum'?"

Devon's eyes look pained as she put one hand to her head, and explained, "I said 'hoyden.'" Then she added, before he could take offense, "And I meant that in a good way."

"A good way?" Devon didn't need the snort this time to hear that John didn't believe her. She didn't blame him, because at the moment she wasn't making a lot of sense.

She raised her hands in surrender, and started to laugh. Not the loud laughter of someone having fun, but the laughter of someone who had no other choice. It had been a REALLY long day. Work, the storm, the Crisis with True, a brief skirmish with her apartment manager…if she didn't laugh, she would probably cry.

John stood there a little warily, trying to decide whether he or True was being insulted again, or whether the woman would need some sort of medical attention.

"Okay, okay, okay," she said, rubbing at her temples. "Let's try this again." She closed her eyes briefly, and opened them again with a forced smile and forced brightness in her tone. "Mr. Danziger. I do appreciate you returning my son home safely. I had expected only to be delayed a few more moments. When I came home, True was distressed, as I told you already, and I provided what I felt was helpful and practical advice and imparted some feminine knowledge. I think your daughter is charming, and you are obviously a good father, and I do apologize if I overstepped the unspoken rules of single parenting by speaking with her on these delicate matters. I would also like to say that should either of you feel the need for a woman's opinion or advice in similar matters in the future, I would be happy to oblige you, with your permission, of course."

This being said, Devon took a deep breath, and looked as if that were the end of the matter. She nearly nodded at him, as if to say he was dismissed.

John still stood there with his hands on his hips, staring at her, undecided. After a moment's silence he said, "Adair, do you always talk like you have a dictionary in your mouth?"

"I beg your pardon?" Devon looked startled. She didn't know what she had expected—perhaps some more defensive attitude and maybe a few harsh words—but it wasn't that.

John almost laughed at the way her eyes went wide. Almost. Sensing she would probably feel insulted if he did so, he just smiled, relaxed his posture, and said, "Lighten up, Adair. Confrontation's over, I was just joking."

Unsure of how to react to his sudden change in demeanor, Devon just said, "Oh. Kay." For another moment she just stood there wondering what she could possibly say next, until John casually asked, "So, do I get some hot chocolate, too?"

Recovering, Devon said quickly, "Of course, there's enough for everyone." Reaching behind her for the doorknob, she turned to push the door open, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

She froze, surprised again, and looked up at him. When their eyes connected, she felt her heart thud in her chest. How silly to think the touch on her arm was the reason she couldn't seem to catch her breath.

His eyes seemed to laugh at her, and he leaned forward to say quietly, "I won't bite. I just wanted to say thanks, Adair. I appreciate what you did for True, and I won't forget it."

She wasn't used to people being that close to her. She blamed the fact that all she could think to say was, "Okay" on the fact that he was definitely too close.

As they walked into the apartment, he added, "And I might take you up on your offer." Devon, walking into the kitchen, felt her stomach jump a little, because she couldn't remember what offer he was talking about. But it settled when she looked at the table and saw True and Uly sipping mugs of chocolate around the table. True, that was what he meant—he meant how she'd offered to help him with True.

Strange woman, John thought to himself. She always seemed so in control of herself, but just a touch on her arm, and she was almost undone. Not to say he was completely unaffected by the contact. For a moment there, when she looked up at him with her eyes wide, he thought he felt the slightest hint of fear from her—panic, maybe. He didn't know why that thought sent a tiny thrill down his spine. He wasn't in the habit of getting his kicks out of frightening or intimidating women.

Going to True, he laid a hand on her head briefly, and True, feeling the connection, understood that she and Devon were forgiven their small lapse (tiny, really) in consideration. She grinned brilliantly up at him, feeling slightly giddy that things were turning out so well, and John was struck as he often was, at how precious a thing he had entrusted to his care. True was his whole world, and here she was growing up on him by leaps and bounds. He shook his head a bit as if to deny it, and then took a seat around the little table, joining in on the conversation there.

Devon was at the stove, already preparing a fourth cup of hot cocoa, but looking over she hesitated a little to see John sitting in her kitchen. He was a large man, and she had a small table. His frame seemed folded comfortably on the matching chair, but his presence seemed too big for her room. Devon and Uly did not often have company. For many years now, it had just been the two of them laughing around the little table. She wasn't quite sure there was room for any others. Whether she meant that literally or figuratively, she was reluctant to consider.

The sound of her son's quiet giggle temporarily interrupted her thoughts. Knowing that someone else was the cause of the laughter gave her both a warm pride, and a twinge of jealousy. Devon was not, by nature, a jealous woman and she frowned a little at her own reaction. If hearing her son laugh with other people was so unusual then she had to consider rethinking their usually solitary natures. She really ought to find a way to make just a little more room in their lives for some friends for the both of them. Uly was getting older, and it was a shame for such a young, smart boy to have no friends.

And Devon was—well, she was getting older, too. If you looked at it the same way, it was a bit of a shame that she didn't really have any friends, either. As a young girl, she had been surrounded by many other young people. Lively and fun, she had never lacked for companionship, but as a woman looking back, it was easy to see that none of those childhood companions were really friends. Children of her parents' friends, they had often taken their wealth and status completely for granted, making them oblivious at best, or insufferably spoiled at worst.

Devon had always felt that she wanted something more from her companions and from her life. After she had Uly, and after the falling out with her father, she discovered that what she had always suspected was true: there was more to life than balls and soirees and charity auctions. In fact, there was so much more to raising a child on her own, that the life she had now did not remotely resemble the life of her youth.

Still, she preferred the little apartment she cleaned herself, and all the things that were paid for with her hard-earned money. But sometimes, just sometimes, she was just a little lonely, and the company of a nine year old boy, as amazing a boy he might be, did not completely make the loneliness go away.

If she felt like that, then it must be the same for Uly as well. Most young boys had more to occupy their time than an overprotective mother. Maybe it was time for him to branch out and as Uly started growing up, she would have to find something of her own to do, also.

She sighed very quietly, reflecting on how long it had been since she had had any room in her life to have a concern for anything besides her son. Then fixing that last cup of chocolate, she put her smile back on her face, just a little lopsided, and a little tired, but it was the best she could do, and she walked it over to the little table to set it in front of John Danziger.

As he reached for it, his fingers briefly brushed hers, and he looked up at her in thanks. She felt her stomach flip, and she was irritated a bit at her own jumpiness. The irrational thought that he shouldn't look so comfortable around her little table was quickly squashed as she determined she was going to make good on her resolution to make more friends for her and Uly. She could certainly start now.

**A/N: It doesn't matter how many years pass, these stories still exist somewhere in my head. And the strangest things inspire me to get writing again. I found this chapter half written on my computer, and just finished it one afternoon, then took six months to edit. I have no idea how long it will take me to get to the next chapter, but I appreciate suggestions or encouragement. I miss Earth 2**.


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